


Scenting

by Ellenar_Ride



Series: Mending Links [8]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mending Links 'Verse, Mort does not like cities, Mort is semi-feral, but it's not angsty like Sav's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellenar_Ride/pseuds/Ellenar_Ride
Summary: Overlapping sounds are common in the wilderness, visually it's no more complex, and certainly no-one tries to touch him. But the air tastes like smoke and soot, and the scents... there are so many overlapping, overpowering scents. He can't separate them in his brain—they tangle into a disgusting sour mess of sweat and filth andbustle.(Prompt: Smell)
Series: Mending Links [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545610
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Scenting

To the eyes of Hylians, Mort moves just a little bit wrong. Few can articulate just what bothers them, but they all see it. In truth, Mort knows it's a few separate details that combine to unsettle people. His knees are always a little bent, his back a little hunched, his chin raised to a ninety-degree angle. His hands are half open, his eyes are half closed. His shoulders pull back and he walks with a shuffling sort of gait—near-silent, but his feet barely leave the ground. He doesn't face forward as he walks; he's constantly turning his head from side to side, scanning his surroundings. His eyes are always moving.

He walks like an animal—like a predator. Between his animal walk, his scruffy appearance, and his perpetually bare and dusty feet, it's no wonder city folk aren't fond of him. They prefer everything tame and sanitized, and Mort has never even pretended to be domesticated. He's a son of the forest through and through, and he's not ashamed to say it. Maybe his body language reflects a wolf or a bear more than a Hylian—what does that matter?

But city folk care. There's a reason Mort never spent all that much time in cities—he gets glares and scoffs and scowls, commands to leave and "quiet" comments on his bare feet and ragged clothes and dirty face. Of course, that's only when he wanders around as himself, the nameless kid that street vendors watch like a hawk when he so much as passes _near_ their carts and shopkeepers toss out of their stores without hesitation. The kid that looks like trouble.

When he goes out as _Link, the Hero of Men,_ in his pressed tunic and clean pants and sturdy boots, hair brushed neat and lying flat and held out of his face with his favorite headband, sword and shield on his back, their reactions are _much_ different. The same vendors who scoff and sneer at the dusty street rat smile at the Hero, wave him over and show off their wares. Link develops a reputation for being friendly, polite, agreeable, but never spending money—not only is Zelda more than happy to give him anything he wants or needs that he can't harvest or make himself, he's not particularly inclined to spend as the Hero in a place that wouldn't sell to the street rat.

Besides, he tries to avoid cities as much as he can anyway—they're _overwhelming._ Overlapping sounds are common in the wilderness, visually it's no more complex, and certainly no-one tries to touch him. But the air tastes like smoke and soot, and the scents... there are so many overlapping, overpowering scents. He can't separate them in his brain—they tangle into a disgusting sour mess of sweat and filth and _bustle._ It's too crowded, too full, and he can't stand it. Walking around as the Hero is the hardest thing he's done since fighting Vaati, since he has to keep his expression even and friendly, never showing his discomfort with his surroundings. Can't show how stressed he is.

The Homestead is so much easier on his nose. Sure, there are twenty-four unique scents he needs to memorize—all similar, of course, since they're all Link, but unique: Way smells like salt and the sea, Wolf smells like darkness and wolf, Split smells like wool and fabric dye. Dei's spirit has no scent, being a non-physical entity, but his mask has a sharp tang of magic that's ridiculously easy to track. Tribal has a uniquely interesting scent: she smells like a predator, aggressive, and yet also like a mother. Mort never says a word. The most surprising detail, the others tell him, is that he can so easily distinguish between Major and Minor. Aren't they similar scents, since they're the same person? And Mort scoffs and says, Major smells old. Minor smells young. They're the _easiest_ to tell apart of the lot.

The first few days after Mort arrived, he must have been a nightmare. He'd taken a break from the city, from being the Hero, and after two months running with a pack of wolves his mouth was clumsy and unused to shaping Hylian words. His animal walk had been at its strongest and he'd snarled at anyone who tried to touch him—he'd swiped bare-handed at Major when he stepped in arms' reach. It took three days to fully shift back into his city mindset, time he usually spent alone on the road to his destination, and stop acting like a wild animal.

Mort had gotten the shock of his life the next day when Sav took one look at him in his best city posture and his pleasant but vacant city expression, wearing his nice neat _Hero of Men_ outfit, and told him to make himself comfortable. Sav had been out on a stable run that morning, so Mort had properly met all of the other Links first—Minor and Myth and Split and Wash and Major and Tribal. Tribal had seen hints of his discomfort, but not the true extent of it. But Sav saw it instantly. When Mort relaxed, when the other Links saw just how uncomfortable he'd made himself for their sakes—most of the Links looked a bit upset, but Major so much more than the rest. Major looked almost like he would be sick, pale and disturbed.

Mort tried to explain that he was used to wearing his city manners, used to playing along to pacify those around him, but it only made things worse. So he stopped, and focused on memorizing everyone's scents instead. That kicked off a whole new discussion on his sensitive nose and how much he relies on scent to interpret his surroundings, which goes far more smoothly. The next day Mort was back in his street rat clothes, feet bare on the grass and dust, his nice clothes packed away for the next time he needed to pretend.

**Author's Note:**

> Mort! My wild boy! He's sorta feral, but not quite like Sav was? Somehow. Dunno, it just doesn't bother him. He's just wild at heart. Pretty sure he was raised by a bear. He does Not like cities. Also runs around exclusively barefoot.
> 
> (Mort has been one of my absolute _favorites_ to work with. I love the whole 'feral children' trope in fiction, even though it's super unrealistic—Mort is more like fictionland's 'feral child' while Sav is more of a realistic wild child.)
> 
> I LOVE MY BOY. HE'S SUCH A SWEETHEART.


End file.
